


Dangerous

by a_taller_tale



Series: RvB Angst War [3]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Blood Drinking, M/M, Violent Thoughts, i don't know how hospitals work i'm sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-22
Updated: 2017-06-22
Packaged: 2018-11-17 09:23:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11272611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_taller_tale/pseuds/a_taller_tale
Summary: Simmons is still new to being a vampire and loses control.





	Dangerous

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Strudelgit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Strudelgit/gifts).



> powerfulpomegranate prompted: "Simmons drinks up Grif and doesn’t snap out of it until Grif is passed out and is at the point where he needs to go to the hospital. Cue freak out."
> 
> Set in my [Vampire AU](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10816914/chapters/23998590), though not in that canon. For the RvB Angst War.

Simmons woke up in Grif’s bed to Sarge’s voice. “He’s dangerous!” 

It sounded close, but when Grif replied, his voice clearer and louder, Simmons realized he could hear Sarge on Grif’s phone. It wasn’t on speaker. So Simmons was getting super hearing too… He wished he could turn his ears off. 

“He’s fine,” Grif said from out in the living room. “We haven’t had a problem.” 

It must’ve been just after sunset. Simmons was still getting used to being dead to the world and then instantly awake when the sun set. He rose from the bed and crept to the door as quietly as he could. 

He wasn’t eavesdropping. It was just so loud he couldn’t help listening. 

“Never trust a Blue!” Sarge shouted. “The second you let your guard down, he’ll drain you like a capri-sun! Fruit punch flavor!” 

That… kind of hurt. It was like as soon as Simmons had been turned into a vampire, _against his will_ , Sarge just wrote him off. He was the same guy! Just, on the night shift now. 

He bit his lip. And he was thirsty. 

But he’d never hurt Grif! Unless the asshole used his toothbrush just to fuck with him again. That was grounds for murder. 

“Oh, come on,” Grif said in a way that Simmons knew he had that mischievous look he got when he was messing with people. “Sunny-D is at least orange. Or whatever the capri-sun orange flavor is. Pretend I said that.” 

A clear growl sounded through the phone, but Grif cut Sarge off before he could really get going. “We’ll check out the club tonight. Night, Sarge.” 

Simmons waited at the door two minutes before he stepped into the living room, stretching and yawning exaggeratedly. 

“Oh, you’re up.” Grif didn’t seem surprised. Did he know Simmons had heard everything? “We’ve got a new lead, we should head out soon. You should probably put on shoes, but who am I to tell you how to live your life?” 

Simmons hesitated, shuffling his feet against the carpet. It had only been a few days, but Grif should _know_ he was always hungry as soon as he woke up. Why did everything have to be a joke? 

“Come on, Simmons. Do we have to go through this every time?” Grif moved over so there was room on the couch, and Simmons moved forward fast, by his side in an instant. 

He averted his eyes as he moved in closer. Grif said once his eyes did a weird glowing thing when he was ‘on the prowl.’ Simmons wished he could turn it off. 

“We had a cat like you once.” 

“Grif. Stop joking,” Simmons said. 

“Alright, alright.” With an amused look, Grif pulled his collar down, and Simmons stopped pretending he had any restraint and climbed in his lap. 

Simmons loved everything about this time of night. Simmons didn’t even have to look Grif directly in the eye anymore for the vampire glamour to take effect. Grif’s body relaxed and his hand gripped Simmons’ shoulder. 

Grif gasped slightly when Simmons ran the edge of his tongue along his favorite spot. He moaned when Simmons bit into him and Simmons purred back in answer, as Grif’s blood ran freely into his mouth. 

Where was that cocky shit now, huh? When he was under Simmons, _Simmons_ was the boss. 

It seemed like Sarge’s threats hadn’t scared Grif away. Simmons drank deep, idly running his fingers through Grif’s hair, feeling possessive suddenly. 

How dare Sarge call Grif at all. To _warn_ him about _Simmons_? 

“Easy,” Grif said weakly, and Simmons realized he was being a little rough, but Grif’s voice was breathy and he didn’t sound hurt. Simmons ran his hand along his body as he drank deeper and Grif shuddered. 

Dark urges ran through him. He could tear Sarge apart and he’d never boss Simmons around again and Grif would only listen to Simmons and Simmons would keep him forever. 

_Grif was his._

“Simmons…” Grif slurred. “Too much.” 

Simmons purred imagining Grif groveling. Asking Simmons to bite him. Grif liked it, he could tell. Sometimes afterwards he looked like he wanted something else from Simmons. Maybe Simmons would give it to him, if he asked… 

It was hard to tell how long it had been when he became aware of Grif’s dead weight in his arms. He wasn’t sure when he had stopped moving and making those addictive little noises. After a feeding Grif was normally really relaxed, but not like this. Something was off. 

The thought was so sobering, Simmons was afraid to look. 

The first thing he realized as the high started wearing off was that he usually wasn’t this messy. He could feel blood down his mouth, on his pajama top. It was staining Grif’s shirt too. He licked his lips, tasting Grif’s blood on them. 

Then he saw Grif’s condition. 

One summer, Simmons was a lifeguard at the local pool, which was a bad idea for so many different reasons, including self-consciousness, girls in bathing suits near him, girls in bathing suits talking to him or asking about the pool rules. It was not the best summer job, no matter what his dad said. 

But the CPR and first aid class came to mind now. The instructor had been a paramedic for years and said it was hard to describe, but that you could just tell when someone wasn’t doing well. It wasn’t just about being pale or bluish, you could just look at them and you could see that person was in trouble. At the time Simmons thought it was a cop-out and he had the instructor explain several times what signs to look for, but looking at Grif he understood what the man meant now. 

Grif was not okay. It was hard to describe, but under Grif’s normal healthy color he was _gray._

“Grif?” Simmons’ voice cracked. 

_Tap and check._

Simmons tapped Grif hard on the cheek. _“Grif.”_ His skin didn’t even feel right but he wasn’t _dead—_

_Look, listen, feel for breathing. Check pulse._

Simmons leaned in close, resting his fingers on Grif’s sticky neck, vision tunneling. 

No. No. Panic later. This now. 

The wound had closed a little as soon as Simmons stopped drinking, but he was still too gentle to feel a pulse at first. He pressed his fingers in harder in another spot and- there it was. It was fast and uneven, but it was a pulse. And he was breathing. 

_911._

No, the ambulance would take forever to get here during rush hour traffic. It would be faster to just walk him to St. Elizabeth’s. It wasn’t far. 

Oh god. 

Simmons wrapped Grif in the comforter from his bed and had him in a bridal carry. He couldn’t bear to put him over his shoulder. Luckily his new strength helped him with the awkward shape. Simmons walked a lot faster than a human through the backstreets to get to the hospital. He didn’t realize his feet were still bear until he was there, grass sticking to his feet and blood on his face and shirt and Grif still not moving in his arms. 

“Help!” He screamed. 

Simmons growled when the ER personnel came near before he controlled himself. They had to take Grif. _They had to help him._

Grif looked even worse laid out on a gurney, a nurse taking down his vitals while someone else tried to engage Simmons. Calm him down, make him fill some form out. Tell them who Grif was. 

“Are you his partner?” Someone asked and Simmons just said yes without thinking. They were partners. They were going to solve this mystery and Grif was going to keep him from going feral like the other new vampires and— 

“Can you tell us what happened?” 

“Are you injured?” 

“Is there anyone else we can call?” 

“Sister,” Simmons croaked. “He has a sister. I can. I can give you the number.” He couldn’t talk to her right now. 

There was a fog of questions and Simmons was covered in blood. He heard someone say something about calling the police. It didn’t matter. He could kill them all. Rip through everyone in the hospital like it was nothing. Be the monster he was now. 

But they needed to help Grif. 

Someone said “blood” and Simmons said he couldn’t donate for private reasons before he realized they wanted to know Grif’s blood type. He’d lost a lot. He needed a transfusion and fluids. Seeing as blood was now Simmons’ thing, he should know Grif’s blood type. 

A police officer had shown up and was trying to question Simmons when Kai burst into the room, wild-eyed. “Where’s my brother?” 

“Kai—” Simmons started, relieved. “You’re the same blood type, aren’t you? Grif said—” 

“You did this. What are you still doing here? Get out!” Kai screamed at him. 

He should leave. Kai was here. She’d make sure Grif was alright. 

“Okay,” Simmons said. “Tell him I’m sorry.” 

“I’m not telling him shit.” Kai said, eyes blazing. “I hate you! _IF I EVER SEE YOU AGAIN I’LL KILL YOU!”_

Simmons had known Kai since she was fifteen. This was the first time he could believe she was one of the best vampire hunters in the city. 

“I know.” Simmons said. One convenient thing about vampire speed was that he was gone before the police officer could tell him to stop. 

He was running then. Not sure where to run to. God, Grif could die. 

Sarge was right. Simmons was dangerous. A monster. 

And he’d killed his best friend. 


End file.
